


Pitching Myself for Leads in Other People's Dreams

by lilliquinn



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bipolar Newton Geiszler, Bookstore AU, Dorks in Love, Gen, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Newton Geiszler, Trans Newton Geiszler, fUCKIN NERDS, hermann is a grumpy young man, lots of swearing wow, newt is a mess, please hug already, self harm mention, talk about emotional stuff, the true nerd lords
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:51:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2221314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilliquinn/pseuds/lilliquinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann Gottlieb loved his work.<br/>He loved his work because it was quiet, because it was respectable, because the people were kind and smart and respectful.</p><p> </p><p>Then Newton Geiszler, with the wild eyes and the half-scar tissue, half-tattooed arms, enters The Shatterdome, and things get confusing for the both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody!  
> There's going to be some heavy stuff in here, I'll update the tags as needed, but don't worry. It's not all emotional baggage.  
> Yet.

Hermann Gottlieb loved his work.

He loved his work because it was quiet, because it was respectable, because the people were kind and smart and respectful.

Hermann loved working at the small bookstore, The Shatterdome.

Really, he had worked in plenty of other places, but the small building filled with secondhand books was by far the best. He read the mathematic books during the break time, along with a healthy dose of Philosophy and science. 

It was usually quiet in the building, the loudest noise Hermann could remember in the shop was when a small man had dropped a dictionary on the hardwood floor, and even that was relatively muffled in the back aisles.

So it was extremely surprising and extraordinarily irritating when a wide-eyed person stumbled into the store, in a bright pink skirt with 'they/them' printed across it in carelessly stenciled letters, their brightly, half-tattooed arms not covered in the least by their ripped-up denim jacket that was stuck with pins and patches.

Hermann couldn't tell what the expression on their face was, fear or excitement, or maybe a mix of both, but their gaze soon fixed on Hermann, who flinched slightly- their eyes were bright blue, and wild, and focused on his own.

Maybe they were something more than wild.

Hermann didn't want to find out, but suspected he would, as the person walked quickly over to him.

"Hey, man!"

Hermann winced. Their voice was high pitched, and fast, and loud. 

  
_Very_ loud, actually, and a patron glared over to them. "So, dude, first off what is with your outfit? You're not a grandma, please love yourself, man!" Hermann was livid, but they kept talking. "Secondly, do you know where the science section is? I'm kinda working on like, a lot of online degrees, you know, when I can, which is like, weirdly fun and also fucking difficult, dude. Who knew working on 6 degrees at once would be such a killer? So, yeah, science, and I'm pretty sure I have my credit card, I don't think it's maxed out yet, but hey, what are you gonna do when you're a fucking rockstar, right? Science! Science, it's so interesting, right?"

They run a hand through their half-shaved hair, and Hermann can see thin, pink and white lines on their arms, and they're grinning like they know something no one else does. They're bouncing on their feet, tapping and drumming their fingers on Hermann's desk like it's the most natural thing in the world, like there's so much energy in their body that it needs an escape, any escape, and Hermann knows that this is dangerous.

"Like, it's String Theory and trust me it works, I can see it it works, dude, it's fucking magnificent and totally baller, and wow I feel like, great today, so yeah! Whatcha got?"

Hermann was horrified. This tattooed, scarred, too-energetic person with _winged eyeliner_ and a _denim vest_ , who sets off _every_ danger alarm Hermann has, comes into _his_ sanctuary, insults his clothing, and starts rambling about science and String Theory, and Hermann is obligated to help them buy books.

"I... Science is down two aisles to the left. Please, with your 6 degrees of intellect, you should understand that bookstores are generally quiet places, and are so for a reason." Their smile widens, and the fire in their eyes seems even more precariously dangerous.

The patron in the back left the store hurriedly.

"Well, Mr. 'I've Got A Degree In Being Quiet And Surprisingly Grandpa-Looking', I seem to be one of two people in this bookstore, the other being you."

"My name is Hermann." He barely gets it out between clenched teeth, "And you must be extremely indecisive if you're working on 6 degrees, could you not decide? It makes you look dubiously employable, at best." 

They just laugh.

"My name's Newton, call me Newt. Now show me to the fucking science section because my memory is super fuckin blurry right now, dude."

"Hermann."

" _Hermann_."

He shuddered as Newton said his name. Their voice was wild and sarcastic and high pitched and slightly terrifying in it's intensity and volume. He stood, grabbing his cane from where it was leaning against his desk, hoping to possibly get Newton out of The Shatterdome as quickly as possible, and knowing that it probably wouldn't happen.

"Down two aisles, to the left. Follow me, if you can even lift your feet in those awful, oversized boots." Newton snorted, traipsing along after Hermann, stomping their feet, clad in large black boots, as loudly as they could.

"Here are the sciences, and I assume you'll need to buy the entire section to spur your indecisive needs."

Newton snorted. 

"Probably, man. Science is the fucking _best_ , dude. You probably like routine and numbers and shit, right? That's no way to live, man. No way to live."

He sighed at them, and oversaw their haphazard book-grabbing process, which consisted of taking every book that looked remotely interesting, as quickly as they could. There ended up being twelve books, from biology to neurology to astronomy. All the books had green covers. 

Newton refused a bag, simply taking the large books into their arms and leaving The Shatterdome casually, like they hadn't disrupted everything in Hermann's life.

Hermann detested them.

He detested their name, their half-finished tattoos, the scars they covered. He detested the way Newton walked, and sounded, and especially the look in their too-bright blue eyes that screamed of energy and confidence and irritation.

He _really_ detested those eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many things that they will hesitate on when tearing at the other's throat.

"Oh man, I knew it! I fucking knew you'd be a Bach fan! This is so great, really completes the 'grumpy old man' aesthetic, really. Bach, argyle fucking sweaters, those glasses! You don't even have a cool cane! You have no idea how many totally baller canes there are, do you? But Bach, man, really? I bet you hate Beethoven, am I right? Too wild for you? Oh my god, I'm right, I'm completely right, I see it in your face! I am a fucking rockstar!" 

Newton had been coming in every day after their first encounter, always ready to rile Hermann up, always willing to start a fight (or multiple fights at once), always wanting to get a rise out of him, to get insulted, to yell and scream and have a no-holds-barred argument with another smart human being.

Who just so happened to be Hermann.

Them arguing scared customers away, and Stacker, Hermann's boss, wanted to kick them out until he realized they bought at least 10 books with each visit. 

"Bach is a perfectly respectable composer! And, unlike you, I dress like a rational, decent human bring who doesn't constantly need to stand out! My cane is functional, which is all that matters, and I would hardly call that noise you love to listen to 'music', maybe your next degree should be in music theory to see if you can learn about the true nature of good music-"

"You think my music's trash? Yours is fucking Stone Age! Get your pretentious head out of your fucking ass, Jesus Christ!"

"Listening to Bach doesn't make me pretentious, do you have the mind of a five-year-old, or do you just talk like one?"

"You fucker-"

It was something they both looked forward to and also dreaded, but Newton with the too-many degrees kept coming in, and Hermann with the 'old man sweaters' kept talking to them.

Their arguments never had a victor, although Newton had tried to convince Hermann that the time they had upended a table clearly meant that that argument had them as the obvious winner. Hermann had snorted, and promptly attacked Newton's ridiculous tattoos (What is that, Godzilla? Really?), spurring on another debate.

 

They were as natural and devastating to each other as a hurricane, ripping each other to shreds in a matter of minutes, building themselves and each other back up in the hours after they parted.

The arguments were over anything, from music to fashion, languages to science and mathematics, and neither of them would admit that they learned something every time- about the other, about themselves, bouncing half-formed hypotheses and academic ideas off the other in screaming matches and getting them volleyed back with the harshest criticism possible.

Revise, attack, repeat.

 

It was, all in all, a rather symbiotic, if confusing, relationship.

* * *

There are many things that they will hesitate on when tearing at the other's throat.

 

However, there are times when one toes the line, and, sometimes, _sometimes_ , there are times when they bypass that line entirely, reaching into the depths of hatred and excitement and adrenaline.

Two weeks after they first met is one of those days.

"And  _you_ , you can't keep your head down, can you, Newton? You can't  _stand_ to not be noticed! Is it because you want to be  _feared?_ Do you want to  _be_ something? Newton Geiszler, the person with the six degrees and the confusing-at- _best_ pronoun choice, needs to be in the spotlight, incredible-"

"At least I'm not the one trying to fucking  _blend into the wall,_ Herms! You have  _no fucking idea-_ "

"You don't exactly  _hide,_ Newton! You make  _no_ effort to hide those  _disasters_ on your arms, you absolute-" he knew it was wrong before he said it, but his voice was drowned out by Newton screaming.

It wasn't anything in particular, just an angry screeching, like Hermann had physically wounded them. Hermann stepped back.

"Newton-"

"No, no, no, fuck you, man. Fuck- fuck!" Newton was turning pale, their eyes becoming threatening, unhealthy. Newton already looked like they hadn't slept in a week, Hermann had crossed the line.

And he knew it.

Newton left without buying any books.

 

 

Newton returned the next day with their diatribes and loud voice, and Hermann tried not to think about how relieved he felt.

They went back to their old ways, deliberately antagonistic, always toeing a dangerous line, and yeah, sometimes one of them stepped over, but it always ended okay.

It stayed like that for almost two months, from the day Newton had first entered the store.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact I wrote half of this at my grandma's house on her laptop. God bless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermann had, in the week after Newton last entered The Shatterdome, not thought about Newton at all.
> 
> Not at all, not about how they hadn't appeared in the shop in a while (6 days, but he wasn't counting).
> 
> Not about how, before this, they had come in every day.
> 
> No, Hermann did not think about Newton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW SAD STUFF NOW I GUESS i'M SO SORRY

Hermann had, in the week after Newton last entered The Shatterdome, not thought about Newton at all.

Not at all, not about how they hadn't appeared in the shop in a while (6 days, but he wasn't counting).

Not about how, before this, they had come in every day.

No, Hermann did not think about Newton.

Except maybe, sometimes, possibly constantly, in irritation.

And possibly in concern as to where they had gone.

Possibly.

 

So when a bedraggled Newton slumped onto one of the benches in the shop, it surprised Hermann- to the point where he could barely be irritated with them- how different they looked.

They were in dark sweatpants and a black, tattered, long-sleeved shirt, which _in itself_ was vaguely scary to Hermann. Newton had never worn anything darker than a light blue, and had never worn pants or any sleeves longer than a T-shirt's. It was odd, and unnerving, but it was the least of Hermann's concerns.

Their hair was unwashed, and they had stubble on their chin. They looked like they hadn't slept in days.

They were, in short, barely recognizable.

Shoppers turned away from them in distaste, which made Hermann unreasonably upset.

"What are you doing here?" Hermann asked from his desk. Newton let out a muffled, apathetic noise and a small shrug.

Hermann's eyebrows furrowed nervously. This was unnatural, this was more terrifying than anything Hermann had seen Newton do in the past few weeks. He got up, walking over to them. "Newton?"

Newton was always moving. It was a thing they did, tapping fingers, drumming toes, bouncing on their heels- today they were unnaturally still. "Newton, answer me."

They looked up at Hermann, then, and Hermann's breath caught in his throat.

Newton's eyes were no longer full of fire.

They were completely dead.

"Newton, I need you to say something." Hermann grabbed Newton's shoulder-a new phenomenon, as they had both refrained from physical contact in the mutual fear that it might become accidentally violent- and Newton flinched slightly.

  
Hermann doesn't wince at this, not at _all,_ and he pretends he doesn't know what touch-starvation is, pretends he has never dealt with it.

Hermann grabs their other shoulder, kneeling as best as he can in front of them with his bad leg, ending in a painful position he knows he'll regret later, but doesn't care much about in the moment.

"Newton, look at me."

"I-I... I'm sorr...y. I'm sorry." Fear spiked in Hermann's chest.

"Why are you sorry, Newton?" Newton made a sort of apathetic gesture that is aimed in their own area. They looked Hermann in the eye, and Hermann knew that something utterly wrong was in Newton's head.

"How can I help you, Newton?" A shrug. They slumped a little, and Hermann struggled to hold them up.

"Newton, I will call an ambulance if you do not tell me what is happening." Newton shakes their head.

"Two poles, magnets. Magnetic, Poles." Hermann was used to the obscure references Newton used, but he never understood them.

"Newton, please speak in something I can understand."

"Bipolar, Herms." Magnets have two poles. 

Bipolar. The word hit Hermann like a pile of bricks, a pile of bricks that really  _should have been apparent before this_. The high mood, the ridiculous actions, the way that they always were  _too much..._ it all made sense in a way that made Hermann feel slightly sick.

"Oh, Newton. If you knew, you should have medication, you should-"

"No, doesn't... work. Blurry. Fuzzy." Hermann sighed quietly. He should have known before, he should have known before, he should have-

Newton slumps further, as if they've lost the ability to stay up.  Hermann stood, trying to keep them from actively falling over.

God, Hermann has no idea what to do.

"Newton, listen to me. Why did you come here? Are you in any danger?" He felt sick, and sat next to them on the bench. He never expected, how could he have not expected-

"See you. Only friend. Maybe danger? I don't know, like, I was, and I did, I was danger and now I'm... semi danger." Hermann closed his eyes and prayed to God that maybe they would both make it intact.

"You did  _what_." He knew. He knew. And Newton knew it. They looked at him, shrugging.

"Disasters."

"Oh,  _Newton,_ " he started, then stopped himself. Nothing he could say would help, he knew. "Do you have  _anyone?"_ a small head shake. No. "I'll be right back, I need to close the store."

* * *

Hermann called Pentecost, leaving a voicemail saying nothing but "It's Hermann, I'm closing the store early.", which was extremely irresponsible for him. It was necessary.

He shooed every other customer out of the door, then came back to Newton.

"Where do you live? I can't leave you all by yourself, you can barely walk."

Newton lived a block and a half away from the shop, and accepted Hermann's help.

It was bad.

* * *

"107. Here we are." Newton fumbled with their key ring, glasses askew and fingers heavy. Eventually they unlocked their door, and Hermann stepped in after them. "Here." they then flopped onto their couch, leaving Hermann standing awkwardly in the middle of Newton's catastrophic apartment.

It looked like a whirlwind had crashed through it multiple times, each time from a different direction. There was a poster on the ceiling and a chipped plate glued to a splatter-painted wall.

Clothes and paint and books were everywhere, in piles and on tables, on half-made shelves and on the couch and stove. Hermann nearly stepped on a mason jar filled with greyish-blue water. He was disgusted. How could anyone live in a place like this?

Newt was curled in a loose fetal position on the couch, covered in blankets and miscellaneous articles of clothing, staring blankly at a half-pink, half-green wall.

Hermann washed the jar in the sink.

He checked the fridge as well, only finding pickles, and the pantry.

Tomato soup and peanut butter.

Hermann wondered, quietly, if Newton was actually alive. 

He made a mental note to get Newton food as soon as he could.

For now, though, the most immediate danger was the 'disasters' on Newton's arms.

He didn't know if they would let him help, or how he would help, or how bad it would be, or how this would affect their strange relationship.

There was lots of confusion and disorganization, which is exactly what Hermann hated and exactly what he knew would be involved in anything Newton had any part in.

He had gotten involved anyways, without a second thought.

He didn't stop to wonder what that meant.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The disasters are not bad, but they are many, and Hermann knows that some wars can't be won with quiet reassurances.  
> He bandages them and tries to comfort Newton anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wOW you guys I love angst way too much okay. okay.
> 
> So, there might be some triggering stuff in this chapter. Be careful. <3

Disasters.

There were disasters, scattered carefully above the tattoos that Newt had worked so hard on. Their shoulders were littered with them, criss-crossing and jumbled across their skin, their forearms, their shoulders. 

Hermann had called them disasters, and Newt had called them disasters, because that is what they were. They were small, emotional hurricanes that Newton had inflicted on themself, tearing up clean skin and leaving long, thin gashes in their wake.

The marks above Newton's tattoos weren't bad, medically speaking, but Hermann could only imagine Newton's emotional state at the time that they were created, and it was terrifying.

Hermann had disinfected them all individually, carefully, while Newton flinched, and the scars and scabs could have been much worse, really, but it still had made them both shake.

"I am going to get you food. Will you be alright?" a nod. Hermann didn't think Newt had the energy to do anything, let alone something bad. 

Hermann closed the door.

* * *

 

Hermann kept low-level painkillers in his pocket, and he took two, having upset his leg with the kneeling and with Newton leaning on him. 

He was alright.

He was alright.

He walked to the shoddy, cheap supermarket/drugstore down the block and bought as much food as he could.

Not all of it was healthy, Hermann was sure, but it was something.

 

And Newton was asleep when he got back, so everything was alright.

He was alright.

Newton was going to be alright.

Everything was alright.

* * *

 

When Newton woke up, it was to pancakes.

And they cried.

Hermann somehow understood, and sat next to them, carefully making sure they ate.

The pancakes were good, and Newton ate.

Hermann ate alongside them, and they turned on the TV.

"What do you want to watch?"

"Not the news."

And Hermann understood that, too, maybe too well. 

The two of them found some of the old Godzilla movies on Netflix, and decided to watch them in chronological order. Newton pointed out little facts about everything (Godzilla... was an allegory for, like.... hydrogen bombs and the effect they might have, dude. It's cool.) while they both watched, even pointing at a small, intricate Mothra tattoo on their left wristbone, with the twins on the underside (those two hurt, man), and a larger, stylized Godzilla on their right forearm. Hermann decided that Newton was a Godzilla groupie. Newton didn't seem to mind at all, even managing a small laugh. It was tiny, barely even noticeable, but it set Hermann at ease.

They both fell asleep in the middle of 'King Kong vs Godzilla'. 

It was all alright.

It was all alright.


End file.
